Directed by:
Anh Hung TranScreenplay:
Anh Hung TranCinematography:
Mark LeeComposer:
Jonny GreenwoodCast:
Ken'ichi Matsuyama, Rinko Kikuchi, Kiko Mizuhara, 玉山鉄二, Kengo Kōra, Eriko Hatsune, Tokio Emoto, Reika Kirishima, Kentarō Tamura, Haruomi Hosono (more)Plots(1)
The melancholy tune and sentiment of this classic Beatles song seems to have taken the life of Toru Watanabe (Kenichi Matsuyama), who is similarly uncertain as to how he should view his relationships. At heart, a quiet and serious young Tokyo college student in 1969, Watanabe, is deeply devoted to his first love, Naoko (Rinko Kikuchi), a beautiful and introspective young woman. But their mutual passion is made by the tragic death of their best friend years before. Watanabe lives with the influence of death everywhere, while Naoko feels as if some integral part of her has been permanently lost. On the night of Naoko's 20th birthday, they finally make love to each other. However, shortly thereafter Naoko decides to quit college and become a recluse. It is at that time Midori (Kiko Mizuhara) - a girl who is everything that Naoko is not: outgoing, vivacious, supremely self-confident - marches into Watanabe's life and he has to choose between his future and his past. (official distributor synopsis)
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The book is better; the movie, come to think of it, fails to capture the whole atmosphere. Not that it's downright disappointing, but it's not what I wanted to see. It's a bit calculated and literally has a "feel good" ending. Those who haven't read it may have trouble navigating at times. The images alternate, but it doesn't feel like it's conveying anything. When someone died, it didn't even move me, I just stared blankly at the screen. It lacks the soul that the book has, which Trần Anh Hùng simply failed to bring to the screen. You can't even get a sense of all the bleakness and loneliness and uncertainty you feel while reading it. If I hadn't read it, this would have been an empty film for me. Too bad, I was really looking forward to it.
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Anh Hung Tran obviously thinks that the way to film movies, especially adaptations of books founded on characters and melancholia, is to leave the characters to sit/walk/copulate (really only for the thickest-skinned viewers, five minutes of macro detail of a motionless face yelps in the end), then he lets them recite a randomly chosen sentence from the book and then willy-nilly graft on the “artiest" elements possible (e.g. soul torn asunder = shots of waves crashing onto rocks, never-ending shots of waves breaking onto rocks) and he repeats this over and over until he fills the entire one hundred and thirty minutes of the movie. I suffered in the movie theatre as I never have before. For the duration of projection, I was trying to think of who I most hate, so I could send him a copy. I found the answer very soon - Anh Hung Tran.
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